Jack Kerouac

 

      Kerouac had a call, and his sense of vocation served him well.  From youth, he saw what he was doing as grist for his mill.  He played football in high school and college, dropped out to be a beatnik, was in the merchant marine, broke through with a book, On the Road, hailed as “an authentic work of art.”

      As one critic said, “When’s the last time your book kicked a generation off.”

      What have you done for us lately, Jack?

      Found money doesn’t stick.  It runs through our hands.

      Kerouac had a lot of casual sex, with women, and men, attracted to his fame.  This made long-term liaisons difficult to keep up.  Also, he was always going somewhere.

      His mother took him in.

      They drank together.  Cussed each other.  Fought.  Made up.

      You can’t leave your mother.  She follows you wherever you go.

      Kerouac died a drunk.  We all die, and a lot of drinkers die drunks.

      Vanity of Duluoz talks about his early days, at Columbia.  It has an elegiac tone.

      He died in a tract house in St. Petersburg, Florida, watching The Galloping Gourmet on television, drunk at 10:00 a.m.

      His estate wasn’t worth much.

 


 

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